


Always had a fondness

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Sweeney Todd (2007)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:49:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs Lovett's first trade allows her sufficient time to reflect on the charms of her neighbor, Benjamin Barker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always had a fondness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Quimby

 

 

The fellow upstairs and across the way has a well-turned leg, noted Mrs Lovett idly. His stockings did not sag or fall, his thighs filled out his breeches charmingly as he walked down the street away from her window unlike those of Mister Come-and-Go, whatever this afternoon's fellow was. She sighed; he laughed, taking it for pleasure when it was only boredom. These men and their machines, always driven, always wanting something. At least she had a good view of the window from the bed, so that when this man or that went past, she could watch something more interesting than Mr What-Name-He-Gave coming.

Which he did, in his own good time, God help us, and she patted him on his all-too-well-padded rump and said, There we are, then, love, and sent him on his way, a guinea lighter than he had originally planned. That done, she tidied up a bit and went to sit by the window, looking out on the street and waiting for the boy, or was he a man, upstairs to come past again.

He was really the spitting image of her Mr Lovett, wasn't he, not that that one was ever properly her Mr Lovett, though he left her bills enough to keep her in some moderate style. She was never one of the finer ladies, oh no, not on his budget, but before he had married that consumptive tart of a scullery maid, she had at least had the alternative not to take in the gentlemen's washing for anyone who came by looking a little lonely.

But the man across the street, Barker he was working like a madman, which must earn him something. They did say he was a fine barber, though with the kind of dandies who went in there, Lord knew if they were going to impress themselves, or him, or what-have-you. If she could only catch his eye, then perhaps it would not be so hard for him to take her into keeping, would it, the rent was cheap, the neighbourhood not so very nice --

He did have that wife, who came to bring him dinner of a nice day. A pretty thing, and Mrs Lovett should know. She had certainly suffered enough at the hands of pretty things like that what was her name? Elizabeth, Lenora, Lucy. Lucy. There might be some well-to-do procuress who would be damned glad of a nymph like her, gracing the boudoir of King Street or some such place. Not that Mrs Lovett knew how to find one of those, oh, no. She was far, far below them, and people who put on such airs wouldn't listen to her if she gave them even the simplest address.

She wouldn't have the time even if she did know where to go, for here was another Mister Such-and-So, and isn't it a fine evening, and yes it is, and that's a guinea if you please, put it on the table, there's a love, and by the time Mr Barker comes down the stairs and goes home to supper there's Mrs Lovett on her back, watching him go past. It wouldn't be so bad if it was him, trim as he is, that smooth, smooth cheek pressing against her bosom.

She could recommend a damned good barber to Mr Whomever-He-Is, and he hasn't got one now, for he's scratchy as a hairbrush, and about as kind. Pump, pump, thump, you'd think they'd grow tired of it, but there he goes, and won't he be back in a few days, scratchier yet, no doubt, and wanting more.

Without the hope of a handsome fellow walking by, the work is worse, and she starts to daydream what she'd say to Mr Barker if she caught him in the street. All fine airs, can't she try that, or does he hear enough of those from his customers? Something simpler, then, on one of those rainy days when Missus Barker won't come to call. She has a shorter walk; she could easily find the poor hungry gentleman a meat pie for dinner. The thought makes her laugh, which puts Mr One-Too-Many in a fluster, but she has his payment and more besides, so what does she care? As he leaves, the hour chimes three. There's no one in the street, now, and she goes home, hoping for rain.

It's two days before it's properly nasty weather, enough to keep Missus Barker home with her golden locks and her lily-white hands. Mrs Lovett is up by ten, early for her, and she rings the little bell on the barbershop door, carrying the finest meat pie Mrs Carroll had for sale. "Come in," and is that her Mr Barker's voice, so light and young? So different than all her gentleman callers, rough with drink and age.

Mrs Lovett calls, "It's only me, Mister Barker, Mrs Lovett from across the way." She bobs him a little curtsey and sets the pie on his counter. He has his polite face on still, but he doesn't seem to know her. She falters a moment -- ah, but he is a pretty fellow -- and in that moment he smiles.

It must be the practice of being kind to older, richer fools, but by Heaven, he looks almost glad to see her. He surely knows from Mrs Carroll of her vocation, not that Mrs Carroll has objections, but when Mrs Barker is with child, what else is a man to do? But he puts on his face like he's glad to see her. "Thank you, Missus Lovett. What do I owe you?"

Men! Always thinking of their pence. "Not a penny, Mister Barker. Call it a present from a neighbor, in honor of the dreadful weather. Do enjoy it."

"Oh, I couldn't, Missus Lovett." When did she last see a man blush? And yet he is, newlywed, innocent boy. "Let me pay you."

"Oh, now. If you must pay me, give us a kiss, then."

That isn't one of his practised expressions, surely, so awake and afraid. He takes her hand to kiss it, and she darts in to kiss his soft cheek, the best advertisement a barber could have. "Missus Lovett," he says, all disconcerted, all innocent, but he does kiss her cheek.

"Thank you kindly," she says, and gives him her best smile, practised in windows and puddles until it twinkles just so. He coughs, still embarrassed, and pulls away from her. "I'll see you when it rains next over the dinner hour, shall I?"

"Will you?"

"It would be only neighbourly, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose it would," he admits, and she opens the door.

"And if ever you find yourself wanting for company, Mister Barker, that's my window, and you can call on me. You'd see any gentleman coming to be shaved long before your bell half rang." Not to let the fellow make any polite excuses, she ran out the door and down the stairs, hearing the bell jingle behind her. Let him come if he would; he would be the most welcome guest she had had in many a day.

 


End file.
